Gemotions

“Wow,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The attic air hummed with a different energy. It felt… charged. I’d walked around this house in a stupor, for what felt like years.

A trunk, overflowing with fabric scraps, lay in a corner. Silks, velvets, and cottons in every imaginable hue. I ran my fingers over them, a thrill sparking within me.

I imagined creating something, a quilt perhaps, the colors swirling in my mind. The urge to create felt urgent, immediate. I needed to do something with these materials.

In a smaller box, I found a collection of old sewing patterns. The names of the patterns were an echo of a time I never knew. I felt a surge of… something. I didn’t know what to call it.